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Poem about the novella "The Awakening"

Her awakening is slow
in the low hours
before dogs' whines
or the sun squeaks through blinds
Before showers are warm or chores checked off,
Her awakening is a yawn.

Dew has not yet evaporated,
its drops
hint at her dissatisfaction
What could be less endearing that someone else's drool?
What could be less inviting than wet socks
stepping in his shower remnants?
ignore it
get ready
Her awakening is a snooze button.

His jokes weren't what she accepted when he came courting
the chorelist of his status
how short it would be
how long the ledger of his properties and earnings
as long as her social calendar
her list of invitations to reply to.
Her awakening is a reckoning.

Then there was a summer
when she found how crude his culture was
Had they no decency?
August, it ended
September sand in her toes
October she felt it under her fingernails when she wrote
letters she never sent him
HIM
Her awakening is a rush of cold water.

She dips into an Olympic size pool
the cool of it a gasp
shock
at how much she never wanted any of this
really
the way she counted off the tasks
one, two, three... up to seven
breathe,
kick stroke flip
Her awakening an exit measured in cool laps.

She has to get out
start a new day
really start
not just a routine or chore wheel
choices and deliberation
Consider what she actually wants
determine it
take it
Her awakening is a choice.

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